Damian Wayne Has A Heart
by Abrielle Walker
Summary: Damian Wayne meets a hard working individual and contemplates his wealth and life of luxury. Just a one-shot for now.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Hey guys, I had this in my head the other day, so I thought I'd write about it more. I'll update Average Night in a few days' time. But I hope you enjoy, as always flames welcome and reviews encouraged. Thank you in advance to the readers that read this, you guys make this fun for me! :)**

Mr. Wayne walked the floors of Wayne Enterprises, ignoring the stares he received he pushed the button for the elevator. While waiting he turned to view the lobby one last time before heading up to the boardroom. The lobby was adorned with many different pictures of Gotham in the early 1900's when the company first launched. The building was constantly being renovated, much to his chagrin, but the look had to be modern and attract the attention of other investors. Straightening his jacket and readjusting his tie, the bell of the elevator snapped him out of his garment check. The elevator doors opened to reveal an unhappy young woman, she had various documents piled in her hands and looked exhausted. Mr. Wayne recognized her as one of the late night workers, they were regarded as the corporate soldiers. They were mostly interns that had bitten off too much they could chew, yet Mr. Wayne held them in very high regard. They were admirable young men and women that worked to better the company. Nodding pointedly, Mr. Wayne stepped in the elevator while she smiled warmly and left.

The elevator doors closed and he pushed the button for the top floor. Placing an access key card for the express line, it would allow him the very privilege of having a faster route to the top floor without stopping for any other. Smirking to himself he looked over both shoulders. The elevator was sparsely furnished, with a small bench that had chips in the wood, he would send a message to the interns to furnish the elevators.

The doors slid open with a ding and Mr. Wayne stepped out of the elevator flashing a smile to Mr. Fox.

Lucius Fox, the business manager of Wayne Enterprises, looked upon Mr. Wayne with curious eyes.

"Sir, you aren't scheduled in for this meeting, may I ask what you need? Is the order I sent to Lexcorp satisfactory?"

"Yes Lucius, thank you for ensuring the matter was discrete. However, I've noticed lower stocks in the international field of Wayne Aerodynamics. Lexcorp has the advantage," Mr. Wayne stated pulling a document from his briefcase, "I took the liberty of creating a plan to encourage a comparative advantage in China. I assume the meeting is still taking place today, at least for the aerodynamics division?"

Lucius nodded, "Yes Sir, the meeting is about to begin, I suggest you make an entrance now before they start."

"Understood."

Mr. Wayne sauntered over to the open doors that led to the meeting room. Nodding at the officials he poured himself some coffee before taking a seat at the head of the table.

Six men and two women were seated at the business table, most were reclining in chairs. When Mr. Wayne took a seat, many of them sat up straight in shock.

"Good morning everyone, I am afraid I have never meet any one of you, allow me to introduce myself my name is Damian Wayne, the only biological son of Bruce Wayne. Now, I would like to get to business straight away. It appears the stocks in the Germany and Sweden have declined over the past few months-" Damian began, but was rudely cut off.

"Is this a damn joke?" one of the men asked shaking his head.

The man was short, possibly just over Damian's height, and he sported a beard. He was squinting, almost like he had bad eyesight.

Damian refused to be treated with such disrespect.

"I can assure you," Damian took a look at his credentials in front of him, "Mr. Avlara, this is most certainly not a joke."

"You're just a kid!" Mr. Avlara exclaimed standing up.

"Yes, I am aware of my age. Now, would you be so kind and sit down? The meeting breaks in half an hour and my debriefing is just as long. I would hate to inform your superior as to why Ferris Aircraft could not broker a deal with Wayne Aerodynamic. Is that understood?" Damian threatened carefully, using a glare Bruce himself would be proud of.

Mr. Avlara fidgeted nervously and cleared his throat, "My apologies, Mr. Wayne."

"Apologies accepted, now some of you are aware of the formation of new merges with Lexcorp, I am here to refute those claims. Lexcorp has been…associated with other nefarious companies, and I for one, would not like to tarnish the Wayne name. Now, could anyone tell me, who is in charge of the sector for Norway?"

…

The meeting concluded on time, thankfully, and Damian stepped outside in Gotham Square awaiting the limo scheduled to drive him back to the manor.

Within a few moments, right on schedule was Alfred, their faithful butler.

Opening the door and escaping from the rain, Damian settled down in the backseat and placed his briefcase next to him.

"Good morning, Master Damian." Alfred's greeting came from the front.

"Pennyworth," Damian nodded, turning his attention to a few beggars in the street. The crowded sidewalk was festering with people trying to get to work and travel. Yet, these people seemed to be avoided at all costs. Damian witnessed an interaction between the young women he witnessed coming from the elevator of Wayne Enterprises. She had an umbrella and was crouching down talking to one of the homeless men. She handed him a few small articles of clothing in bags and some stemming take-out food. She smiled to him and waved goodbye.

Damian was shocked at the interaction. Before he could think any further, thunder clapped in the distance and Alfred drove from the front of the building.

The light changed green and Alfred drove on the desolate streets to avoid excess traffic. Soon they were back at the manor.

Damian emerged from the limo and straightened his jacket once more before stepping over the threshold into the Manor.

He looked at his home in wonder. It had never seemed so big. Before he knew exactly what he was doing he stalked the halls, and lurked in the doorframes of the numerous rooms.

He lived a life of extravagance, yet most people could not even afford to feed themselves in the city he lived in.

Shaking his head, he walked slowly back towards the large kitchen. Alfred was near the stove taking something out of the oven.

"Alfred," Damian started in a quiet voice, "how long have you worked for my father?"

Alfred stroked his chin, "It has been many years indeed, now hasn't it? I started four years before your father was born."

"My grandparents-" Damian was about to ask.

Alfred was way ahead of him, "Bruce's mother and father. Martha and Thomas were good people. The city adored them, they were the most influential socialites around the city."

"That will be all, Pennyworth. Thank you." Damian stated.

"Very good Sir." Alfred responded turning to the younger child.

Alfred remembered Bruce when he was younger, Damian certainly looked like him. But the two were polar opposite. Damian had matured beyond even Master Richard's years. Damian was the more serious vigilante, and the more focused of the family. He was studious, intellectual, and secretly longing for approval. He came off as arrogant, but that can only be expected due to his upbringing.

Before Alfred could ponder about Bruce's youngest son, Dick bounded down the stairs.

Alfred sighed theatrically, "Good afternoon Master Richard."

Dick Grayson smiled at Alfred and said a brief good-morning before cabinet surfing for cereal. Dick gasped at the thought of eating Raisin Bran; that is all he could find. Before he could formally complain to Alfred he turned to the older gentleman.

Dick opened his mouth to speak but Alfred cut him off.

"Second cupboard to the left Master Richard." Alfred nodded gesturing to the small wooden cubby.

Dick opened the cabinet carefully and couldn't contain his smirk. Inside were boxes of Dick's favourite cereals. Boxes of Count Chocula, Fruit Loops, Cap'n Crunch, and various other boxes were in his stash.

Dick looked at Alfred carefully, "Alfred, you are irreplaceable."

"You're welcome Master Richard, now please eat your candy someplace that is not in my eyesight. I can only take so much insult to food." Alfred chided.

Dick laughed and turned to go to the Cave, he would check on Damian anyway.

Grabbing a rather large bowl, Dick mixed his favorite cereals and proceeded to walk to the Cave entrance.

Damian was hunched over Bruce's master chair and looking up Wayne Enterprises' Interns. He pulled up the file he had seen for the young woman in the elevator. Avery Williams was her name, she was rather young for working in Wayne Enterprises; she was only 15 when first interviewed. She had been working herself through high-school entering university with a scholarship Wayne Tech had provided.

Dick made his presence known.

"Isn't she a little old for you?" Dick asked smiling.

Damian spun around quickly turning to his older brother.

"Grayson, everything is so juvenile about you." Damian smirked, pointing to the cereal.

"Bite me," Dick laughed, placing his hands protectively around his precious bowl.

"I'd rather not." Damian stared blankly, turning back to the computer.

Damian heard Dick come around to his right side, "Who's she?"

"She is one of father's corporate soldiers." Damian replied.

Dick looked confused, "What?"

Damian shrugged, "It's a rather derogatory term for the most efficient of workers. She has by far placed the most hours and produces results. She is part of the security team working for Lucius. She is by far the most capable of those intern idiots."

Dick smirked, "Do I sense you crushing on her, Damian?"

Damian turned to Dick with a serious stare on his face, "Grayson, does it look like I am having romantic feelings for a girl four years older than myself?"

Dick looked at Damian carefully and ruffled his hair, which promptly earned him a smack on the hand by Damian.

Dick shrugged it off, "I figured you could be a normal child; that was a mistake I will not be making again."

"Good," Damian commented dryly, "I have scanned and configured the DNA sample found at the last crime scene. Tonight, Father is coming back to town, I assume you will be going back to Bludhaven?"

Dick shrugged, "I don't know, maybe."

Damian looked back at Dick, "What do you mean you don't know?"

Dick was taken aback, sporting a hurt look, "Damian, do you want me to leave?"

"It makes no difference to me, I just figured you'd stop crime in your own little cesspool."

"I'm on vacation, D." Dick exclaimed throwing his hands up in the air.

"And that requires you to sleep in until 12 in the afternoon and mope about the mansion feeling nostalgic?" Damian said being snarky.

"It requires that I relax, something you don't know. I heard your meeting went well today, how did you like making all of the adults in the room cringe?"

Damian fought to keep the smile off of his face, "It's more than I can say for any of you; none of you take matters into your own hands. You allow Lucius to run the company."

"D, he is capable of managing Wayne Enterprises, you know."

"I know that, but that doesn't negate the fact that none of my Father's previous wards have ever taken the weight off of Father's shoulders. Even in one division." Damian pointed out.

Dick looked at Damian carefully, "So that's what this is about."

Damian looked confused for a brief moment, "Care to explain your ramblings, Grayson?"

Dick smiled a genuine smile, "You want to help him. You want to help Bruce, don't you?"

Damian did not respond.

"Well we can easily agree you were the first one to ever help Bruce so extensively, at least in regards to Wayne Enterprises. He would be very proud of you, you know. When he comes back from his flight you should mention it to him. Alfred and I are very happy with the progress you've made, especially at school."

Damian remained silent and continued to click on separate files.

Dick smiled at the back of Damian's head, he left the Cave and returned upstairs for a while, deciding to give Damian some time alone.

Damian had to admit, the decision for him to go to Wayne Enterprises was an unplanned one, but he figured he could make himself known to his Father's employees. Yet, he seemed to seek approval. _Maybe Grayson was right. That's on the list of things never to mention again._

Ensuring no one was around, he pulled up Avery's file once more. She had clocked in for 15 hours and worked throughout the night. She was one of the most dedicated individuals, he noted. The files on hand were not enough to assuage Damian's lingering curiosity.

Pulling up other records including school records, medical records, among other documents, he realized Avery's mother was not American. Her mother was in fact a German working to get her green card. Avery was an American citizen because she had come with her father when she was just a young child. Her father, now who was he? Damian searched until he found a mugshot of Avery's father, Nikalv Dimitrov, a member of the Russian mob. He had been imprisoned at Blackgate Penitentiary for assault and fraud charges years prior. She had changed her name to protect her identity in case the mob tried to find her. _Smart move on her part,_ Damian thought.

As much as he tried he couldn't get her out of his head. She seemed like a good person, she openly helped the homeless on the street, buying him a meal and giving him clothes. For that reason, she had unknowingly left Damian questioning his life of luxury.

…

Later on in the evening, Dick suited up as Nightwing to patrol Gotham; while Damian and Alfred went to pick Bruce up from the airport. Damian was happy to see his Father back from his business trip. He hoped he had done well by trying to help the company.

When Bruce's flight landed they all walked to the car silently, Alfred was the only one that managed to make anything resembling a conversation.

"Sir, how was the business trip." Alfred asked carefully, eyeing the two in the backseat of the car.

"New York was very crowded to say the least, I'm glad I'm home." Bruce stated turning to Damian, "I heard of your little stunt at the office today. Lucius sent me the files in the form of a fax, I never saw the opportunity in China. Commendable work, Damian."

Damian hide a smile and nodded to his father curtly.

Bruce kept his eyes on Damian for a lingering moment, "I brought you something back from New York."

"Oh?" Damian asked, his curiosity contained.

Bruce pulled a package he had been holding, "I figured since you like the classics, you could read one of these-American classics rather than European."

Bruce smiled one of his rare smiles as Damian tore open the packaging, letting it fall to the floor.

The gift was a first edition of the book _The Catcher in the Rye._ Damian had to admit, he had not read this American staple of literature before.

"Thank you, Father." Damian managed to say before delving into the book.

The ride home was silent, Damian had to admit, he loved being in his father's presence, even if it was only in silence. As soon as Bruce got home, he was heading out, Nightwing's request. It seemed as though there was a breakout at Arkham Asylum. Damian knew he should let Dick and Bruce catch up, as they had not seen each other in some months. Feigning drowsiness, he allowed himself to become side-benched.

He would still patrol the areas no matter what, but stay away from the public eye. He would remain stealthy for the night.

He reached Gotham and was surprised to see it relatively quiet, of course when he thought about Gotham being quiet, something bad was bound to happen.

A struggle caught his attention, close to the bowery. A young woman dressed very formally in a pencil skirt and a trench coat was fighting a group of men.

"You don't want to mess with us, Dimitrov! Your father ruined us!"

Damian recognized the young woman as Avery Williams.

Avery held her ground, "He may be my Father, but he is certainly dead to me." Avery replied as she struck the man in the face.

Robin decided it would be a good time to intervene, he took one of them on when he dropped down. Leaving Avery with the other two, yet it startled them for just the perfect time when Avery managed to land in another kick.

Together, Avery and Robin knocked the men out and inspected the damage.

Robin turned to Avery, "Are you alright?"

Avery turned and gave Robin her hand to shake, "I'm fine, I'm Avery Williams."

Robin shook back, "Robin." He stated plainly.

Avery nodded, "I know."

"Those men are part of Maroni's gang, they know who you are. You'll be in danger." Robin stated.

Avery's eyes widened for a moment, but she tried to remain stoic.

"I uhm, I don't know how they know me, probably my father's doing. I was the one who made the tip-off." Avery admitted sheepishly.

Robin was shocked, "You turned in your own Father?"

Avery looked discouraged, "He was planning to get involved in human trafficking. I sent all of his files to the GCPD. Commissioner Gordon knew it was me, but never told anyone anything. I asked to be placed in protective custody. I took a different name, instead of Anastasia Dimitrov, I'm now Avery Williams."

Damian felt bad for accusing her before hearing why.

"Anyway, I just got off work. I'm heading into my apartment, uh….I've never encountered Batman, but doesn't he leave after he saves an individual?" Avery asked turning red.

"We do, but I should make sure no one is going to follow you back." Robin stated carefully.

Avery nodded, "Thank you, and trust me, I'll be careful to keep my head down."

Robin nodded, "That would be wise."

Robin watched as Avery headed into her small apartment. He would ensure no one harmed her there. Later when he returned home he couldn't figure out why he did this, but he wired thousands of dollars into her account to help bring her mother over, and hopefully get into a better apartment, in a safer neighbourhood. He never told anyone what he had done that night. It would be his secret.


	2. Chapter 2

Damian Wayne stared at the downtown core of Gotham in particular disinterest. During the day it seemed meek, one would dare say quiet. Nothing stood out of the ordinary, no high-speed chases, no muggings, no break ins, not even an armed robbery. Damian regarded the people downtown, the ones settled near alleys with small carts and puffy stained winter jackets to the ones ignoring the downtrodden. Holding expensive lattes and rushing around in business professional clothes, clean cut and looking miserable. Probably needing to meet some deadline that was important to quarterly sales.

The sidewalks were coated with a thin blanket of snow, often disturbed by the high levels of foot traffic coming to and from the shops and onto the streets. It was still daylight, but the hours were shorter this season. Something that took getting used to. After all, in the Mediterranean it was often daylight until late in the evening. In Gotham, the fall season ensured that the hours of the day were shortened considerably.

Damian sat on the bench, watching the city he only often explored at night. Oddly fascinated by the people walking by, he continued to observe those who walked by the black bench he had claimed.

He had told Pennyworth he would be in the downtown core. Damian remembered how that raised eyebrow of Pennyworth's demonstrated concern, yet Damian was unfazed. He was adamant on exploring and discovering the city from street level, not just the rooftops and high-rise gargoyles he frequented as Robin.

Pennyworth had instructed him to speak to his father about a trip downtown.

Damian remembered that conversation not going as smoothly as he would have liked.

Damian had walked down to the cave and watched silently as his father typed and regarded the large screen. Even with his back turned to his youngest son, he still knew exactly where Damian was standing. Briefly turning away from the image on the screen, he turned to Damian, the large leather chair letting loose a soft squeak.

Bruce greeted Damian with a soft smile, uncharacteristically breaking away from the somber look that he seemed to always have.

"Father, I wish to have Pennyworth chauffeur me downtown." Damian stated plainly, hoping his request would broker no argument.

Bruce's eyes narrowed considerably, "Alfred stays with you if you go downtown."

Bruce's response had Damian slightly irritated.

"Father, downtown Gotham cannot be as bad as you're thinking. I am not a child in danger of becoming a kidnap statistic." Damian retorted, annoyance marring his voice.

"Damian, you don't understand Gotham's downtown core. It's no place for a child to wander around."

"I am not a child!" Damian protested.

"You are a child, and you are my son, Damian. I understand that you are not like most children, but that does not negate the fact that I am not allowing you to go downtown alone."

Damian stood in front of his father, trying to remain calm before he spoke, "I have been in Gotham for three months, but I cannot name a single store downtown, not one that I haven't seen on a rooftop. I have been to one street where Wayne Enterprises sits, yet I know nothing more of that part of the city. I want to know the city that you have me living in."

Bruce closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, "Damian, I don't like the idea of you going downtown alone."

"The people of your city don't know I am your son! Where is the danger, Father?" Damian questioned hotly.

"Damian, that's not the point. I trust you, it's the people downtown I don't trust." Bruce replied honestly.

"Father, I have been in war-torn areas with mother, I have been in the middle of civil uprisings, and have trained with experts since birth. I believe I can handle downtown Gotham in the afternoon. It's an insult that you are doubting my ability to protect myself disguised as a civilian when you allow me to patrol alongside you as your partner at night." Damian argued.

Bruce sighed, "You are going to go even if I forbid you from going. If you promise to take a cellphone and check in with Alfred every hour I will let you go. But I want you home before five thirty."

Damian smirked, "Father, I will tell Pennyworth where I am at four forty-five, he can take me back to the manor."

Bruce, to his credit, nodded to Damian and turned back towards the screen.

"Take your bank card in case you see something you wish to purchase."

Damian broke into a sprint upstairs and smiled the entire way to the kitchen, informing Pennyworth right there and then.

Damian shook his head slightly at his father's concern, but Pennyworth had reminded him that it was completely natural for his father to worry about his son's safety, even if said son was trained to be an assassin since birth.

Damian loosened his grey scarf and adjusted the buttons of his wool coat.

As he sat, he wondered how Avery Williams was doing. He hadn't checked the files of Wayne Enterprises, but he hoped she had moved up in Lucius' team.

He knew that she didn't know who he was, she glanced at him by the elevator, but no one other than a few board members knew he was the son of Bruce Wayne. They all had signed confidentiality agreements, ensuring none of them spoke of Bruce Wayne's biological son.

Before he could think about her any more, he checked the time, two forty. About two hours before he would have to call Pennyworth to bring him back home.

Standing up from the bench he had been sitting on, he glanced around before moving completely away from the metal seat. He didn't see too many people around, just the occasional homeless person and those who were on their lunch breaks. The street he was on had various shops, a small floral boutique, a few small businesses that dealt with different styles of clothing, a diner, and two competing pawn shops.

Trying his luck, he would see what was offered in the pawn shops before moving on and walking to a different street in the downtown core.

As he walked, he noted the people inside the shops, most of them were engaged with their customers, looking happy with business as usual.

The floral shop was bright and yellow inside, the woman handling a bundle of roses, placing them carefully in a bouquet. The man who was waiting looked sheepish. Damian pondered who he had angered, most likely his significant other. His apology had to be extremely grand for the mistake he had made, he was probably going to spend a fortune on the roses in the packaging.

Walking past the floral shop, he made his way up the cement staircase to enter the door of the pawn shop. As he walked in, the bell on top of the door rung, signaling his presence in the store.

The pawn keep smiled at the young man with the dark hair that entered his store. The man noticed the cashmere scarf and expensive wool coat and smiled. Perhaps he would finally make his first sale in the afternoon.

The man who owned the shop had greying brown hair and wrinkled skin that gave away his older age. His nose was larger than average and his mouth was small, but smiling, as if he smiled all of the time.

He welcomed Damian in the store, "Sonny, how are you?"

Damian froze in his tracks and stared at the man, "I am not your son."

He hadn't said it rudely, more out of curiosity and a hint of confusion.

The pawn keep merely shrugged, "It's just a figure of speech. Anyway, how is the weather out there? Isn't getting colder now, is it?"

Damian blinked, "The temperature is twenty-three degrees Fahrenheit. It's calculated to reach ten by tonight."

The pawn keep smiled with his brows raised, "Well, it looks like the boy is a meteorologist."

"I do not wish to become a meteorologist." Damian answered honestly.

The pawn keep nodded, "Well, you don't have to become anything you don't want to do boy, it's all your choice. Anyway, is there anything I can interest you in today? A gaming system perhaps, or some toys?"

Damian fought to keep himself from scowling. _The man is only trying to be polite_ , he reminded himself.

Damian turned to the older man and shook his head, "No thank you."

With his question answered, Damian walked around the aisles of the store looking at various locked cases and trinkets inside.

There was a large selection of jewelry, electronics, and some instruments behind the counter where the man stood, reading invoices and papers.

Damian looked at the various board games on a wooden shelf in the corner. A worn box with the word MONOPOLY on the side piqued his interest.

Not wanting to disturb the other boxes on the high wooden shelf, he walked quietly over to the man behind the counter and cleared his throat.

The man looked up, reading glasses sliding down his nose. He spoke loudly after coughing, "You find something you want?"

"Yes, it's over here." Damian pointed to the stack of board games on the large wooden shelf.

The man looked somewhat disappointed, "Ah okay, well I well help you bring a few down."

"Just the MONOPOLY box will do. What is it?" Damian asked, looking at the man reach for the box.

Damian's question must have surprised the pawn keep as he turned without grabbing the box

The pawn keep looked utterly flabbergasted, "What do you mean? You never played MONOPOLY?"

Damian shook his head, "I didn't really grow up with these mindless games."

The pawn keep nodded, understandingly, "Okay, do you want to look at the others? Some of these are actually enjoyable, even if they are mindless." The man placed his hand on Damian's shoulder affectionately.

Damian saw the movement coming, but he wasn't expecting this level of kindness in a pawn shop owner.

Damian shrugged, "Could you explain how to play some of these?"

The pawn keep crouched to Damian's level, "Sonny, I can do much better than that."

…..

The two were seated in the back of the store, the front door locked and the shop closed to the public.

The two individuals locked eyes and stared at each other, trying to figure out their hands.

The man laid his cards down and uttered to word Damian was dreading, "Uno."

Damian looked at his hand and narrowed his eyes, playing out his hand he placed all of his cards down in the order he was taught. He had emptied himself of his hand although it had appeared he would lose the game.

The pawn keep laughed loudly, "Damn sonny, if I didn't know better I would have said that you were fooling me when you said you never played this game!"

"Tony, I will take all of these games. You have me convinced." Damian nodded, his respect of the man growing after each minute that had passed.

Tony, to his credit, asked if he needed his parent's permission to purchase all six board games.

Damian shook his head, "No, my father said it was permissible to purchase what I wanted. Thank you, Tony."

Tony smiled, "Kid, I haven't had fun like that since my grandkids came to visit from Florida."

Damian's brow rose questioningly, "Tony, when did you last see your grandchildren?"

"Eh?" Tony shrugged, "I think it was three years ago, Anthony is 8 now, and Maria is turning five this year. Their parents can't afford to take too many vacations nowadays."

Damian nodded, "I understand,"

The two had spent a good chunk of the afternoon playing board games, and Tony explaining how each game worked and how to be strategic about playing them.

Monopoly, Life, Risk, Clue, Scrabble, and Sorry were all games in the pile.

Damian knew he didn't have time to play them all on account of his curfew, but he asked Tony to take a few minutes to explain each. Tony didn't even hesitate, he explained all of them to the young boy across from him.

Damian appreciated his kindness, he didn't have to shut down his shop early, but Tony had said it had been a rather slow business day anyway.

Tony said he valued playing the games more than conducting business as usual.

Damian nodded cordially at Tony and picked up his coat and scarf to put on before he went out in the blistering cold.

Tony went to the front of the store and unlocked it before heading back to the counter and calculating Damian's total, "That'll be ninety-five dollars, Sonny."

Damian plucked his debit card from his coat pocket and placed the card in the machine.

As he was typing his pin, the machine prompted him to tip, before he could ask anything Tony piped up, "Sonny, it'll ask you for a tip, don't worry about it. I can't get it to stop doing that."

Damian didn't say a word, but when the tip amount was still there, he pressed several buttons and quickly made his transaction.

Seeing as though it was time to go, Damian ran out of the store quickly, calling behind him that he didn't need a sales receipt.

The bag was a bit heavy, but it was a reusable one that housed all of the game board boxes. Carrying the bag over his shoulder, he brusquely sped walked to Alfred's parked car and jumped in the back. The tinted windows hid his small body from Tony, who was now looking for the small boy.

The pawn shop owner looked anxious and kept glancing at the sales receipt, unsure of its content.

Alfred noticed Tony's demeanor and asked, "Master Damian, is that man looking for you?"

Damian spoke up, "I may have given him a large tip that he feels compelled to return. Drive Pennyworth, drive."

Alfred hid his smile, "As you wish Master Damian,"

….

Back at Wayne Manor, several hours later, Damian unloaded his reusable bag in the living room and spread out the game boxes, carefully looking at each one. Although they were used, Tony had replaced some pieces and bought new MONOPOLY money for the game.

Smiling to himself, he hardly even noticed his father standing in the double doorway of the large recreational room.

Bruce walked forward softly, "Damian, what have you purchased there?"

Damian smiled at his father from the floor, "Tony told me about these games. Do you want to play father? Do you want to?"

Bruce noticed Damian's behavior and smiled rarely, "How about a game of MONOPOLY before our patrol?"

"Ah, wherein the game symbolizes the ruin of friendships and relationships as a result of greed and capitalism. I will bury your property."

Bruce chuckled dryly and sat across from Damian, moving many of the other boxes out of the way so they could both have some room to play efficiently.

Some time passed as they played the board game, both were happy and content.

After a few more times around the board, Bruce asked, "Damian, who is Tony?"

Damian looked up after grabbing his metal car, "He is the pawn shop owner two streets away from Gotham Square, near Baudelaire Boutique."

Bruce's eyebrows rose, "And the reason you spent three thousand dollars?"

Damian's eyes widened, "I didn't know you could see the transaction."

Bruce narrowed his eyes, expecting an answer.

Damian shrugged, "Tony is an older gentleman who can't see his grandkids because his son can't afford to fly to Gotham from Florida. He originally lived in Naples, but moved to America with his parents so he could have a better life. He used to be an automotive worker, but the work was too much for him. He later opened a pawn shop here after investing in downtown property. He said he was lucky to buy before the real estate crash. He seems like a nice man, he also shut down his shop so he could teach me how to play this game in particular. And Uno, we also played Uno."

Bruce's visage was unreadable, but he seemed to take no issue with Damian's actions.

"I see," he said plainly.

Damian looked at his father, his eyes glancing into Bruce's, "Are you mad at me, Father?"

"No Damian, not at all. Do you want to visit Tony tomorrow and pick up the game Uno? You don't have it here with you."

Damian asked hopefully, "Will you go with me?"

Bruce nodded, "It's about time I introduce you to Gotham as my son. This way I can also thank Tony personally for showing you Gotham hospitality. Not all of our city is plagued by crime, there are some good people out there Damian. It would be nice to take some time to do things like this," Bruce explained, gesturing to the now-finished game in front of them.

"But Father, I just bankrupted you."


	3. Chapter 3

"Damian, are you sure you're comfortable with this?"

Damian's brow rose considerably, "You do understand that I have trained with assassins before?"

Bruce's eyes narrowed, "I had a feeling your mother would train you in such a way."

Damian nodded, "I assure you, this…event you have planned will go swimmingly compared to what I have faced before."

Bruce shook his head, "Damian, this is going to be unlike anything you have ever dealt with before."

Damian shoulders fell, "How so?"

Bruce crouched to his son's level, "These people I am inviting here have no idea who you are and how you were raised. They will push you and pry, and try and intimidate you because you are now going to be considered a public figure."

"A little recognition as your son is what I wanted, Father." Damian replied, "I am not having doubts about this, are you? Father, are you ashamed that I am your son? Is that why you do not want people knowing?"

"No Damian, dammit, you don't understand the press in Gotham."

Damian's head tilted in confusion, "I don't understand what you are worried about. They cannot harm me."

Bruce shook his head, "I don't think that having a party here is a good idea, despite what you may feel right now."

"Do you think this public event poses a threat to us?" Damian asked, his nose wrinkling.

"Not a threat to your safety."

"Then let the event commence. Besides, Grayson and Drake are going to be here." Damian's face twisted into something close to a snarl when he uttered the name 'Drake'.

Bruce didn't look convinced, "Damian, if at any time you feel overwhelmed, come to me and I will shut it down, okay?"

"Father, it will take a lot to overwhelm me, believe me."

…..

The day of the gala arrived and the Manor was heavy with traffic, from caterers to additional security guards to landscapers, ensuring the grounds looked spectacular. Damian for the most part stayed out of their way and kept his great Dane, Titus occupied.

Walking farther on the property, away from the chaos and the madness of designers arguing about colours for tablecloths, Damian felt a sense of solace.

Titus was busy sniffing the ground and walking without his leash around the outer limits of the property.

That left Damian with a few quiet hours before the guests would arrive and his required grand appearance.

Although Damian didn't know too many of the details, his story would echo the truth of who he was: the biological son of Bruce Wayne.

For obvious reasons, his life as an assassin would never be uttered in public, rather his mother, an unnamed woman raised him away from the spotlight of Gotham's entertainment press; until she realized he needed his father in his life.

Damian knew that this was for their benefit. It would safely confirm Bruce Wayne's playboy personality, and would ensure that no one would think to dig deeper to poke holes in their story.

Damian was sure he would be respected as Bruce Wayne's son. The reporters and press would dare not disrespect him or his father.

Before he could think about his impending introduction to Gotham society, he was snapped out of his reverie by Titus running to someone behind him.

Slightly startled, he looked to see who was lurking in the outer perimeter. He usually was more focused and knew who was behind him, even if by several yards.

"Oh, it's just you." Damian stated bored, turning back around to eye the treeline.

"Owch Dami, I'm hurt." Dick reached his hand to ruffle Damian's hair but Damian stepped out of the way before his hand made contact.

Damian, now a good few feet away crouched on the ground, petting Titus looked up and asked, "I thought you weren't arriving until later?"

Dick shook his head, "Nope, I thought I'd come a little earlier to torture you with _nostalgia."_

Damian smirked, "Grayson you couldn't torture anyone with your memories."

Dick tilted his head back and forth, as if he were thinking about it, "Well, I did want to arrive early to give you some advice for tonight."

Damian grunted in annoyance, "Why does everyone seem to think I am going to fail at socializing?"

Dick blinked a few times, "You were raised mostly in isolation, not anywhere near kids your own age, and I couldn't possibly forget to mention: you were raised to be an assassin by the very people that want to dominate the world."

Before Damian could protest, Dick continued, "Damian, I don't think you'll have a hard time in there. I think you'll do great. I just want to let you know, if something happens to be said about your parentage and insults are thrown around, don't react. The press corps absolutely love a negative reaction to these sorts of things."

Damian stopped petting Titus and looked up confused. Titus on the other hand looked bored now that Damian's ministrations stopped.

"What do you mean they will insult me?"

Dick looked slightly uncomfortable as he explained, "They want to sell their columns and papers, so they often embellish or exaggerate events they capture. Some of the members of the press are great, they understand that you're just a child, but some just want to get a rise out of you and want you to act out. Like a child throwing a tantrum."

Damian's brows rose, "Shouldn't it be enough that I have never been seen before? I will destroy their recording devices and cameras if they shed me in an unfavourable light."

"Whoaaaa, Damian, you for sure cannot do that. They are allowed to write what they want, first amendment and all that."

"Yes, I am aware of your constitution, Grayson."

"Perfect, then you understand that they're allowed to write almost anything in their paper. Gosh, I hate to think of what your family did to those that spoke badly of you."

"Execution. Mostly beheadings, sometimes hangings." Damian replied, shrugging his shoulders.

Dick's eyes widened, "Alright, well, that's Ra's al Ghul's way, not ours."

Damian nodded, "Obviously," he paused for a moment before asking in a softer voice that betrayed his age, "Grayson, will you be there when I am to descend down the steps?"

Dick this time got away with rubbing Damian's shoulder affectionately, "I wouldn't miss it buddy."

…..

Damian stood in front of the mirror, his suit was freshly pressed and free of wrinkles, courtesy of Alfred. Staring at himself, devoid of his usual armor and uniform, he tried to relax his shoulders. He knew he didn't want to disappoint his father or bring shame upon the family. He was the true son of Bruce Wayne, his rightful heir, and he needed to set a perfect example for tonight.

Of all the things he practiced, restraint and patience were the most difficult. It was hard to abandon what you were taught. Being set in one's ways was a difficult habit to break, but Damian truly tried. He had been essentially retrained by his father, not in methods of fitness and physicality, but in methods of efficiency and procedure. He knew not to use deadly force, (even if he was sure the criminals deserved it), to think before acting upon impulses, (although his intuition was often accurate) and to listen before jumping into missions (a trait all Robins had become accustomed to learning).

Damian knew he could do this, he was meeting the press corps, having to introduce himself during the event to various people seemed like an easy task, but he took what Grayson had said to heart, and would practice restraint in full tonight.

Rolling his shoulders back, he checked the clock on the wall near his headboard. He had a few moments to spare.

There was a knock at the door that captured his attention.

"Enter!" Damian commanded.

As the door opened, Damian had to stop himself from crossing the room and drop kicking the young man that crossed the threshold of the door and stepped in his room.

"Drake." Damian sneered.

"Demon-spawn." Tim Drake responded, hoping they wouldn't engage in a fight.

"Why are you here?" Damian asked accusingly.

Tim closed his eyes and sighed for a moment, "I seem to recall an invitation."

"No, you cretin, why are you in my quarters?" Damian questioned further.

Tim breathed in slowly, "Bruce is speaking to reporters and preparing some things before you're to come down, Dick is flirting with one of the journalists, and I thought I would give you a head's up before you are due downstairs."

Damian looked puzzled, "Why would you want to help me?"

"Honestly, I was more curious about coming up here. I asked myself the odds of you trying to kill me again." Tim replied scoffing.

"Tt. I seem to recall saving your life from Todd. Why would I try to kill you? Besides, it would disappoint father."

"…right…" Tim exaggerated his response.

"I appreciate your concern, Drake, but I can handle the time. Last I checked I'm not five." Damian retorted irritated.

Tim moved out of Damian's way, but called out to him, "Damian, your bow tie is showing, jeez, here let me."

Maneuvering his way around the dresser, he walked to Damian and quickly fixed his white collar before Damian could move or strike at him.

Damian looked angrily at him, "I could have caught that."

"Hey, to be fair it was behind you, it's sometimes hard to catch."

Damian sighed, "Thank you," he whispered.

Tim looked flabbergasted, "What did you say?"

Damian blew air through his nose, "You heard me, if you ever repeat what I just told you, you will wake up to your head being severed from your neck."

On that note, Damian walked forward into the hallway to descend from the grand staircase that was recently carpeted. Tim, to his credit was fighting valiantly to keep the smirk from his visage. He followed behind his younger brother, ensuring that he didn't ruin the moment by staying too close to Damian.

Despite the two of them hating each other, they looked alike. Both had the same jet-black hair and confident swagger, and both were working the same full-time occupation.

There were differences in the two of them, but Bruce cared for both of them equally, much to Damian's chagrin.

As Damian descended down the main staircase he was almost blinded by the flash of the cameras. He breathed in slowly, not allowing himself to demonstrate how uncomfortable he was with the situation.

A chorus of loud voices made itself louder than that of the live band that was playing in the corner near the fully stocked bar. Damian couldn't see in front of him, but nevertheless had memorized how many steps there were from the top to the ground when he first moved into the Manor.

Walking slowly as he stepped off of the last stair, he allowed a fake smile to plaster his face. He couldn't see his father, but he knew Tim was behind him.

Relaxing his shoulders once again, he readied himself for the ambush of reporters asking questions.

However, all he felt was Tim stand beside him too close for his comfort. Before he could push him away discretely, he felt another person behind him. A familiar hand on his shoulder enabled Damian to recognize Grayson. After a few seconds passed, his father placed his arm over Damian's shoulder, providing comfort Damian didn't know he needed.

With his breathing starting to relax, Damian laughed at the attention, playing the part of a young boy.

The journalists and columnists were beaming at the young Wayne in front of them, ready to subject him to several "easy" questions.

One older middle-aged reporter with graying hair and a tired face, wearing too tight of a jacket began speaking, "Damian! Over here!"

Damian allowed his attention to wade from the doorway to the man near the front.

Seeing as though he had the young boy's attention he asked, "How old are you, Damian?"

"I'm twelve," Damian responded nodding to the reporter.

"Damian!" several voices yelled into the ballroom.

Damian had to fight to be heard over the cameras shuttering and the noises of irritated reporters.

"Where is your mother?"

"Where are you attending school? Being tutored, or attending private school here in Gotham?"

"How long have you known Bruce Wayne was your father?"

"Where is your mother?"

"How do you like living in Gotham?"

"Can you confirm your presence at Wayne Enterprises on October 6th for their board meeting with Wayne Aerodynamic?"

Damian flashed a look of concern to his father, and softly shook his head, as if to say, I don't know.

Bruce sensing the discomfort of his youngest son, he quickly intervened, "Please give my family some room. Your questions will be answered, but at a later time. Please, enjoy our craft services and open bar. I know I will," Bruce joked, knowing that the reporters and journalists would listen to him.

As if he were God himself giving a commandment, the crowd in front of Damian dispersed.

Damian felt like he could breathe once they were farther away. Glancing up to his father, he was surprised when Bruce crouched down beside him.

"Damian, are you alright? I know it can be overwhelming and scary the first time to have to deal with reporters and the shining lights of the cameras. You did well." Looking beyond Damian, Bruce called out to Tim and Dick, "Dick, grab Damian a glass of water please, and Tim, be my eyes and ears around the room."

Both of his sons nodded once and went into the thick of the crowd, ready to fulfill their orders.

Damian stepped back away from the crowd and turned his back to the reporters that were staring at him, scrutinizing him.

Bruce smiled to the crowd as he stepped in front of Damian to speak to him.

"How are you feeling, Damian?" His father questioned carefully, trying to gage his reaction.

"I see why you keep a private life, Father." Damian answered quietly, his eyes gesturing to the crowd directly behind him.

Bruce sighed, but kept his face looking content and happy, "I didn't want you to face this so soon. They can be extremely hostile with their questions."

"Father, what do I say about Mother?" Damian asked unsure of what to say.

Bruce shook his head, "For all intents and purposes, your mother is dead."

Damian's eyes widened, "You said that Mother is dead?"

Bruce nodded, "The story is validated, as the only option was to send you here when she died. The official story is that you came here and we ran DNA tests to prove that you are my child. I strictly ensured that no reporter would question you on the status of your mother. Clearly the message didn't resonate well with the press corps."

Damian fiddled with the lapels on his suit, "So, what do I do now?"

"If you want me to call this event off I will, you may retire to your room upstairs and I will have Alfred send you some of the foods upstairs."

Damian shook his head, "That would be too easy for them to write a report about, let's give them something to actually write about. I will walk around with Grayson and he can keep me company and you can keep up with your image. I will answer their questions with what you have just told me."

Bruce's eyes narrowed with hesitation, "If you feel uncomfortable or face any hostility you are to come to me immediately. We do not want the reporters becoming complacent with abusing you for the sake of a story or column, okay?"

Damian smiled a genuine smile, "Agreed."

With their compromise intact, they both faced the crowd, anticipating another ambush. Despite Bruce's orders to the crowd, the idea of having the child answer questions about his life as a Wayne was too tempting to some of the reporters in the Manor that night.

Before the onslaught of reporters could intervene in their private moment, Dick returned with a glass of iced water for Damian.

Dick gave the glass to Damian and ruffled his hair before Damian could slap his hand away.

"Dick, go with Damian and walk around the party, slowly. Let him answer some questions, but if they start becoming hostile or suggestively rude in their questions, bring him back to the staircase and allow him to go to his room."

Dick nodded, his black hair becoming unkept behind his ears.

Damian set the water down on one of the corner tables and began sauntering around the room, hoping that his height would at least make him hard to spot in the large crowd.

Damian would have no such luck tonight, the reporters were hesitant because of his older brother directly beside him, but some of the more brazen and confident reporters felt right at home.

"Damian can you tell me what you hope to be in the future?" One of the younger women asked him, allowing him to speak directly into the recorder.

"The CEO of Wayne Enterprises." Damian responded quickly and confidently, as if he had no other plans for his future.

The reporter looked surprised, "But Damian, what about Richard Grayson?"

"What about me?" Interjected Dick happily, shooting a smile at the reporter.

"Well, I would assume the company would go to the eldest son." She replied, a little miffed that Dick would interject in interview.

Before Damian could mention his birthright and what he was entitled to, words that would inflame the reporters, Dick laughed and cut in, "Well, I don't want the company, and neither does our other brother. Besides, Damian is the one that takes most after Bruce Wayne."

Smiling, but humor not catching in the reporter's eyes, she thanked Damian and walked away.

Damian turned to Grayson, "Why wouldn't you let me answer that one?"

Dick shook his head, his hair flying from behind his ears and onto the sides of his face, "Evasion is the best method for answering their questions. If you answer their build up questions, then they know that you're willing to answer anything honestly."

Damian nodded slowly, "Okay."

They continued their way around the ballroom, answering questions for the Gotham Gazette, the Gotham Globe, the Gotham Herald, the Gotham Chronicle, and the Gotham Free Press.

After their last encounter Damian was feeling extremely tired and agitated with the proceedings. He wondered why they didn't just hold a simple press conference and call it a day.

Before long, Damian made his way back to his father where he was speaking to the security personnel.

Bruce smiled once he saw Damian, "William, this is my son, Damian."

Damian let his outstretched hand be taken into a firm grip, "Hello Damian."

William looked to be in his late thirties, with thick blond hair and light brown eyes. His face was free of wrinkles and the bags under his eyes didn't go too deeply. His jaw was square and he had well defined features.

"Nice to meet you, William." Damian said amicably.

Bruce looked at tired young son, but before he could say anything a voice from the crowd shouted across the room.

"Damian, is it true that you reprimanded Mr. Avlara at the board meeting for Wayne Aerodynamic?"

Not being able to tell where that came from, Damian placed his hands in his jacket pocket, unsure of what to say.

"Damian, how did your mother die?" the voice bellowed.

Dick and Tim were scanning the room trying to find out who was speaking, while Bruce was storming into the crowd trying to find the man himself.

"Are you really Bruce Wayne's bastard son?!"

Damian had enough of the questions and did what any other anxious child would do, he turned on his heel and ascended up the stairs to his room. Thankful that he had made an agreement with his father earlier.

Damian couldn't help but feel hurt by the reporter's words, he knew that he was not born like other children, he was born out of artificial machines and technology most of the world couldn't even fathom having access to. He was by all means a bastard by definition, but he was Bruce Wayne's son. His biological son. No one could take that away from him. He wouldn't let them.

Storming up the steps, forgetting being dignified, he closed his door once he got to it and let himself fall in front of it.

Breathing in slowly he tried to relax. He was Bruce Wayne's child, and his father loved him, even if he didn't know of his existence up until four months ago.

It certainly hadn't been easy to become accustomed to his father's methods, he wanted to please his father at first, but he didn't know how at all. It took weeks to gain his father's approval and respect, but he never doubted that Bruce loved him. Damian knew he did.

He just hoped it would be enough to convince his father to treat him as the heir to the mantle and legacy.

Damian heard shuffling up the stairs and he quickly got up off of the floor before he embarrassed himself.

As if on cue, his door knocked gently, "Damian," his father called out.

"Enter." Damian replied, surprised he found his voice.

He was surprised to see his father looking dishevled, his hair looked unkepmt like he had run his fingers through it too many times, and he had his crisp white shirt sticking from his black trousers. He had gravel on his shoes as if he went outside, but he knew that the party was kept strictly indoors.

"Damian, I'm sorry." His father apologized.

"It wasn't your fault, Father." Damian stated calmly, as he sat on the edge of his bed.

Looking to the floor, unable to meet his father's eyes, he felt the bed dip slightly as Bruce's weight materialized beside him.

"I know that tonight was difficult. I'm proud of you Damian, you took it all in stride. Don't let that man's words fool you, you are not a bastard, you are my son."

Damian lifted his eyes from the floor, "You are not upset that this is the legacy you have left? An assassin son that was raised to believe he would become the next Alexander?"

"No Damian, legacy is not who you are, it is who you become and who you strive to be. You can't help your upbringing, and it would be cruel to use your ubringing against you as some sort of condemnation."

"You are not embarrassed to have a son with my origin?"

Bruce shook his head, "No Damian, you are one of the best things that has occurred out of my dealings with your mother and grandfather. You are my son, and you are the one to continue my family name, as long as you will have it."

Damian said nothing, but he embraced his father, and felt comforted when he was embraced back without hesitation.


	4. Chapter 4

A lone figure walked the lengths of the faded green and red shipping containers, their hand outstretched, feeling the ridges of the metal container and the peeling paint beneath their large fingers. The docks weren't an easy place to admire, the old and decrepit warehouses surrounding the polluted harbour did not allow for anyone to have an ounce of appreciation for the oldest area of the city. Despite the infrastructure once being the highlight of the city, the antiquated harbour did not invite any sentiment or adoration, only disgust. The city officials and politicians often ignored the areas surrounding the harbour and the docks themselves, an astute Gothamite would never be found near the shipping and loading docks, they would never be there for any _good_ reason.

The founding families had ensured the docks were the center of Gotham, that was until the expansion of the city. After the city had been established and the people had moved further and further away from the harbour, it had lost its prestige. With other methods of transportation available, only few businesses still shipped materials into Gotham via the Gotham channel.

Those few businesses weren't exactly renowned for their humble business practices. The Falcone family and its associates monopolized the shipping industry in Gotham. They would ship materials in and out of the city efficiently, and for the right price, quietly.

It wasn't uncommon to see the drugs and weapons flow freely through the downtown core because of the mob's businesses practices.

There was an unspoken gentleman's agreement between the police force and the Falcone crime family. They would allow for the transport of illicit materials, only because if they completely halted that flow, crime rates would soar in the city and a power vacuum would result if the drugs and weapons were blockaded.

The police in the past had tried to cut off the flow, only to find that a crime wave occurred as various individuals tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to claim the rest of the drugs to sell and use their advantage against others.

Violence had exploded throughout the underworld, as crime families and anyone trying to become a kingpin were infighting with one another to gain an upper hand.

The police had eventually allowed the drugs and weapons to flow through the city, as long as the infighting wasn't going to involve any innocent civilians.

Except sometimes it wasn't only drugs and weapons making their way into Gotham via the channel. Sometimes the city could prove itself to be even more macabre.

The lone figure continued to walk the rows of shipping containers, tapping them every so often. The shadow abruptly slowed as he heard a faint sound tapping back at him and a muffled scream.

The figure felt his face twist into a smile, he had found the cargo that was to be delivered.

….

Damian grunted as he fought against the dormant punching dummy. He had been practising his methods for quite some time. He honestly couldn't see a need to train any longer, however his father had warned him that since he was now known to the public, he needed to have over two sets of fighting techniques.

If he was apprehended and ambushed as Damian Wayne, he couldn't fight the same way Robin would defend himself.

Damian supposed it made sense, but he failed to see the reason in continuing practising.

"Damian, you're still moving the same way you would as Robin." His father called down from the elevated walkway.

Damian grunted angrily, "There is only one way I know how to use my arm in this specific direction."

His father shook his head, "No, that's not the issue. You're placing too much emphasis into landing a punch rather than changing your way of administering it."

Damian stopped abruptly and turned to face his father, clearly annoyed, "Elaborate on that," he commanded, growing frustrated at the lack of progress.

His father walked towards the ladder that separated the levels of the cave, his footsteps creating a soft sound that echoed around the cave.

As he descended, Damian stood a few steps back to allow his father to demonstrate what he meant.

Damian was irritated, he knew that he was better than this, he should have been able to do what his father commanded without such specific instruction like a child. He had been training without intervention for weeks, but his father had demanded that he perfect these methods of fighting before he could emerge fully in society as Damian Wayne.

Damian wiped his brow with the small grey towel and grabbed his metal water bottle with the speed of a disgruntled viper.

Bruce cracked a hint of a smirk at Damian, he knew that he was irritated, with a pang of sadness, he remembered that Jason had also had the most difficulty with changing his fighting style.

Clearing the painful memories from his mind, he focused on Damian, standing a few yards away, awaiting further instruction. Bruce lifted his arms to his sides as if he were about to start shadow boxing.

"Your aiming in the right direction Damian, but you are emphasizing the strike the same way as Robin would."

Bruce demonstrated hitting the dummy twice, once with a graceful hit, and the other a choppy yet effective strike.

Damian nodded, his muscles tight and coiled as if he were ready to spring at the practice dummy and take out his frustrations there.

Bruce beckoned him forth with his index finger, "I want you to move more bluntly as Damian Wayne, and gracefully as Robin. You have ensured that your agility is shown when you fight as Robin. Do you think you could disguise your fighting style as more coarse and harsh?"

Damian's brows rose in bewilderment, "You want me to fight like a juvenile delinquent?"

Bruce chuckled quietly, "Damian, it's not as if I am telling you that you can't fight at all if you have too. I am only saying that it would be beneficial if you had clearly differentiated styles of administration. Can you please try to do this for me?"

Damian's eyes narrowed significantly, "If you will have me fight like a ruffian I will gladly, but," he paused, "only as Damian Wayne."

Bruce nodded at their agreement, and turned towards the large computer screen ready to prepare their information for the night's patrol.

Damian grabbed his gym bag and placed his dirtied towel in the laundry hamper in the corner of the training area. He would take Titus for a quick walk before he would go on patrol with his father.

Climbing the ladder with one arm, he looked behind him at the dormant dummy that he dragged back into the corner, perhaps if he placed Drake's face on the dummy would assist Damian in practicing blunt methods of combat.

He disregarded the idea when he imagined the face his father would make, defacing Drake in such a way would anger and disappoint him.

Stretching his muscles and raising his arms as high as they could go, he sighed as he wound down from training. He would have a short break and possibly a run with Titus, and then he would return for the night's patrol.

This was usually the routine before he would go out as Robin. If he was being honest with himself, he didn't favour going out as Damian Wayne. He hated to admit, but his father had been right, the paparazzo were downright abhorrent at stalking "celebrities" and "socialites".

He had found himself staring at a member holding a large camera to his face, trying to get a good picture of him for the ridiculous entertainment section of the paper he worked for.

He had eventually pushed the man out of the way, thankful that no other cameras were there to catch his clear mistreatment of the press.

Damian sighed as he remembered his father's words, and tried to push the memory from his mind as he called Titus and clipped the collar with the tracker on his neck.

Titus panted happily, and despite Damian's sour mood, he smiled rarely and pet his great Dane. Unbeknownst to the duo, Alfred overlooked the scene, comforted that Damian was adjusting to life at the Manor. His attitude certainly hadn't helped when he first made his way into the Manor, Alfred thought his patience was being tested and that he couldn't possibly be as nurturing to Damian as he hoped he would be.

Thankfully Damian was becoming comfortable in the Manor. His upbringing was one of great intrigue to Alfred. He couldn't imagine having a boy go through the training he had endured, but he had proven himself to be far ahead of all of the other Robins that had undertaken the responsibility of becoming a partner to Batman.

Damian found himself grounded with this responsibility, although he would never admit it to anyone, he was just as insecure with himself. He sought his parents' approval, hoping to become the best to please his mother and his father. He was lacking discipline with Talia, but found that his father would not accept his attitude and contempt for the world. They had argued, fought, and screamed at one another, but Master Bruce had emerged unscathed by Damian's insults and…colourful vernacular.

Damian had been coming to terms with his departure from the League of Assassins and his involvement as an assassin himself. He contented himself with the thoughts of being the best Robin, it replaced the need to become the sole leader of the world through righteously justified conquest. His mother promised him the world, to become the greatest man that had ever lived (even surpassing his grandfather, the Head of the Demon, Ra's al Ghul), the countries all around the world would kneel and bend to his will alone.

It was an intoxicating ideal, a rather childish notion, but nonetheless an appealing destiny.

Damian had rejected that destiny by agreeing to stay with his father and train longer and harder. He would fight for the common good and justice, not revenge. He would never fight in the name of revenge again.

It was difficult for Damian to accept, he had been told he could do anything from such a young age, and it was easy to fall victim to violent impulses. But he had proven to absorb the wisdom from his father and would not set himself up for failure by seeking out revenge against anyone that wronged him.

Alfred heard the side door close and heard the small patter of footsteps and paws, and smiled to himself. The bond between child and dog could never be replaced, Master Bruce was right to introduce Titus to the family.

…

On the rooftops in the dead of night was how most nights on patrol would accumulate, not many things happened during the early weekdays, perhaps a robbery or a mugging, a fight breaking out between different patrons of the clubs and bars below them, however, most nights it was quiet. It felt like they were both waiting for the pin to drop and the explosions to rack the city, thankfully that was not in the cards for them this very night.

Robin studied the gargoyles with interest. They adorned most of the city's buildings, but he hadn't paid them much mind. Truth be told, he thought of them as glorified seats to perch on while waiting for their attention to be called elsewhere.

But before he could look further to analyze this particular street, he was called by Batman to continue their patrol beyond the downtown core.

Robin grappled closely behind his mentor, expecting an explanation as he trailed just out of reach of Batman.

His com buzzed, "GCPD have intercepted gunfire at the docks, by the sounds of it, it seems likely that this isn't just mob-infighting."

Robin felt his eyes narrow under his mask, it could have been the mob, but there was a possibility there was a package someone else wanted to take forcibly from the harbour.

"What kind of cargo could be so important?" Robin questioned to no one in particular.

Since they were already close to the docks, they didn't waste time in summoning their vehicle. They continued grappling for a few precious moments.

The wind was fierce against their bodies, it was early December, but it felt like it was the dead of winter. Feeling his cheeks redden from the exposure to the wind, he breathed in through his nose, not wanting to inhale the icy air too fast.

Batman grappled low, landing on a large row of shipping containers. He broke into a run, jumping from the heightened containers carefully into the fray.

Batman was in the middle of a large crowd, stopping several men from taking more weapons from large wooden crates on the ground.

Before Robin could follow suit, there was a large metal screech that sounded throughout the entire harbour, one of the metal containers was forced open by a large being. If Robin hadn't been accustomed to seeing Man-Bats, he probably wouldn't believe what was happening in front of his very eyes. A deranged looking man stood in front of the green metal siding, grunting and looking inside. Its stature was straight, and was very widely set, at least eight feet tall and extremely agitated.

Robin was ready to intercept when he heard Batman shout for Damian to move.

Sensing danger he was astounded to find that he had lost all observational skills, not seeing the men that had bounded behind him to shoot at both him and the large man.

The man, now staring at Robin, who was caught in the crossfire, bounded up to the row of containers and wrapped his body around Robin's. He was in the trajectory of the bullets and found himself feeling the uncomfortable sting of shrapnel in his back.

To the large man's relief, the boy in red, green, and black was unharmed. He was only a child, standing at around 4 feet 11 inches, he wouldn't have survived the oncoming bullets intended for him.

He carefully let go of Robin who was wheezing at the pressure of his hold, and bounded towards the men who had let loose their guns on the duo.

In one fell swoop, the man hit the metal shipping container with both of his fists, the force of his punch caused the men to lose their balance. In those precious few seconds, several things occurred at once, Batman was now at Robin's side, a protective hand placed over his shoulder, watching the gargantuan man defend his son. Meanwhile, the man, taking advantage of the fallen hostiles pushed them from the rows of shipping containers. A fair fall to the ground, but one that was not fatal.

Batman stepped in front of Robin, staring at the humanoid figure who had saved his son's life. As Batman analyzed, he found that the man's demeanor was now calm. He had a mop of greasy brown hair that flew up in random directions, his clothes were extremely ratty and torn, as if they were found outside of a dumpster. His eyes were a dull brown, pupils dilated, as if he were on some form of enhancing substance. His muscles were large and his body built, almost as if he were like Bane, Batman realized. The man was barefoot and clumsily looking around, not wanting to meet the eyes of Batman.

"Who are you?" Batman asked, his voice sharp and his tone acidic.

Despite saving his son, Gotham was his city and he didn't need any more vigilantes causing problems. He established that rule long ago, and his family never exceeded beyond Oracle, the former Robins, Huntress on occasion, Cassandra Cain, and Batwoman. If the times called for it, then reinforcements would be hand selected by Batman himself, yet he rarely called in favours of that caliber.

The man responded, "Abuse."

His voice was a deep baritone, and he did not meet Batman's eyes, but regarded Robin carefully.

"Thanks," Robin muttered, realizing that he probably would have sustained a few gunshot wounds if not for the man blocking their trajectory.

The man grunted, "Shipping container 4011, the men were talking about bringing the contents to the Russian mob."

Batman's eyes narrowed, "What interest do you have with the mob?"

Abuse looked up for the first time, "Nothing, they disgust me. Using civilians as pawns and harming innocent people."

Robin cleared his throat and looked Batman with a quick side glance, as if to ask, what now?

Batman walked forward to Abuse, "I'm only going to say this once, thank you for helping Robin, but you are going to stay far away from protecting Gotham, do you understand? This is not your fight."

Abuse snorted, "You don't know anything about my fight. I suggest you collect the cargo, Batman."

Before anything more could be said, Abuse bounded from the container with the speed that rivaled a car and ran from the harbour.

Robin was about to go after him, but Batman clasped his shoulder, "Later, Robin."

Understanding that he was issued an order, Robin complied, grappling to find container 4011. Batman didn't venture too far from him and watched to see if any more men from the mob would ambush them while searching.

The two were able to continue their search, uninterrupted by Abuse or further henchmen. Batman called to Robin after a few moments had passed, he had found the specific shipping container.

The container they were looking for was on ground level, whatever the mob wanted was sealed in the metal box in front of them.

Batman placed an explosive detonation device on the large padlock of the crate. Waiting a few seconds, a contained blast had the metal explode into tiny shards. Nodding to Robin, he moved out of the way and pushed the crate open quickly.

Robin pointed a flashlight and stopped himself from reacting in disgust.

In the darkness of the crate were two small children, trying to comfort each other in the dark. They were crying, tears streaming down their dirty faces.

Upon seeing the flashlight, they both retreated into the corner, facing one another, and sobbing.

Between their two mutterings and sobs, Damian found that they were not speaking English, but something of a different vernacular.

Robin listened carefully and walked towards them, trying to make out what they were crying out.

Damian recognized the language, they were speaking German.

Trying to make himself as small as possible and as less threatening as he could, he spoke softly, "Ihr sind gesund und wohlbehalten"

The two children looked up and wiped their tears, although they did not say much, they climbed into Damian's outstretched arms and felt comforted by the small boy in the red, green, and black.

…

Back in the Batcave, Robin was still in his uniform going over the case file for their night on patrol. Angered by the situation of the two children, he turned to Bruce, "I still don't understand why they have to stay in Gotham, their family are in Germany are they not?" Damian asked, irritated by the events of the night.

Bruce looked at his son, "They aren't safe anymore in Germany, their parents are connected to the mob and they have taken liberties with their safety."

"So, what happens to them now?" Damian asked, not admitting he was concerned for their safety in Gotham.

"They are likely to become wards of the state, at least until their information and records are received by Interpol. They are likely going to be placed with their extended family, that is if they have any extended family unaffiliated with the mob."

Damian paused.

"Father, I may have an idea that would keep them from being hidden away."

Bruce narrowed his eyes at his son, "I'm listening"

….

Damian found himself grappling in the north-eastern end of Gotham, searching for a large apartment in the safer part of the city. After a few moments, he came across the building adequately named East Side Heights.

He thanked Avery Williams for choosing a safe place for her and her mother to relocate. He hoped that he could convince her to help these two children that also had their lives ruined by mob violence.

Obviously knocking on the door wouldn't cut it, so Damian found himself throwing a few pebbles at Avery's window. From what he could see, the lamp on the far side of her room was on. He couldn't make out much since the curtain was drawn tightly shut, but soon found himself staring at Avery, who had pulled back the curtain quickly.

She placed a hand over her neck in fear and slowly breathed out. He had scared her, granted it was almost two in the morning.

Gathering herself, Avery opened the window slowly, trying desperately to avoid making too much noise.

Avery spoke softly, "Robin?"

"I apologize," Damian stammered, "in the movies usually one doesn't get a heart attack from the merely innocuous act of throwing stones at a window."

Avery smiled closed mouthed, "Well, it is Gotham."

Robin nodded once thoughtfully.

"What can I help you with? This isn't merely a social visit, is it? I'm not in danger, am I?" Avery asked, the smile falling from her face, she looked beyond her room to her wardrobe, imaging herself packing up her belongings once again.

"No, you are fine. Although I have a favour to ask of you." Robin reassured her.

Avery felt her body stiffen from the cold air, "Come in, ask me inside. It's freezing outside, how do you not feel that chill in the air?"

Robin shrugged, "Thermal uniform."

"Of course," Avery stated, closing the window and drawing the curtain shut. Turning to ensure her door was closed, she sat on the edge of her bed. Pointing to the desk chair she offered Damian a seat.

He sat, facing Avery, and began to speak, "Tonight, Batman and I found two German children being held in a shipping container. They had been kidnapped with the intention of being held delivered to the Russian mob as hostages. They are officially wards of the state while the paperwork is being filed, I will admit, having them in witness protection is not ideal for their age. I was hoping if your mother wasn't working yet, she could look after these children?"

Avery kept her emotions in check, "My mother used to be a teacher in Germany, if I explained the situation to her I am sure she would find it in her heart to look after the two young kids. How old are they?"

Robin fought himself not to sigh in relief, "Twins, they are both seven. The boy is named Alaric and the girl is named Alida."

Avery pursed her lips in discomfort, "Robin, I hate to mention this, but I'm studying at school right now, and I'm not sure I can afford to take care of my mother and these children."

Robin blinked, "Money is being wired into your account as we speak, even if your mother doesn't agree to care for the children."

Avery inhaled slowly, she looked tired, the bags underneath her eyes were well defined. She rubbed the back of her neck in thought, "So you were the one to deposit money into the account the first time."

Damian didn't say anything, he didn't have to, she had figured it out herself way before he had mentioned anything.

Avery nodded, "Okay, okay, I'll see what I can do, my mother loves children and despises the mob. If I explain the way you have explained and tell her about the…donations she will agree to almost anything."

Robin relaxed his shoulders, "Thank you, there isn't much I can do for them, but I know being raised by strangers while parents dabble in…extravagant endeavors breeds cynicism and unhappiness. You are doing them a great service."

Avery shook her head, some of her golden-brown hair escaping the loose bun on her head, "You're one to talk, you are the one ensuring they have a chance at a semi-normal life. I think that you get all the benevolence points for that one alone."

Robin turned to open the window and did not look back as he spoke audibly over the wind, "They deserve a life unmarred by violence and murder. They deserve the chance I wish I had."


End file.
